A Detective's Guilt
by KatTheCatInTheHat
Summary: Summary: Sherlock falls to his death and Lestrade feels guilty for having arrested him the last time they had spoken. Then, Sherlock gets even with him.  Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBC's universe of Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock? A fugitive?

Within hours the day had gone from being just confusing, to an absolute mess. It was entirely possible that all those years Sherlock Holmes had been a fraud of a genius, and sometimes Greg had wanted to believe that he had been. However, that last case of the missing children had been solved by the great consulting detective in a way that even DI Lestrade had trouble believing in. From the scent of linseed oil Sherlock had deduced that the kid had written in invisible ink, had the kidnappers tread in it, and discovered exactly where the children were. If Sherlock hadn't been there, the kids would both have died painful, lonely deaths.

Then, when Sally-Fucking-Donovan and Idiot-Anderson came up to him and expressed their doubts in vehement, stubborn voices, he couldn't ignore it anymore.

The fact that Sherlock might have been cheating him since they met over six years ago was painful to think of. In fact, no matter how hard Greg tried he couldn't get it into his head that the man who had saved his ass on more than one occasion was a fraud. No way, it wasn't true.

Maybe Donovan and Anderson had just been accusing Sherlock because they had resented the man, Sherlock had insulted, humiliated, and out-smarted the two of them over and over again and the kind of resentment that they felt must have built up to unbelievable proportions. Then, with the idea placed in their minds, they exploded.

Greg had felt like he was trapped in a corner, he needed to ask Sherlock himself if he was a fraud but the genius hadn't gone with him; he had outright refused to be accompanied by a police officer! No surprise there, but considering the matter involved his reputation he had to have felt the need to go. Couldn't he?

Well, after going to the Chief Superintendent and getting scolded like a schoolboy they were off to arrest one of the smartest, greatest men on earth. Of course, he went quietly, only complained a bit. John, however, was an entirely different story. Why couldn't Lestrade have a friend who cared that much? The man had yelled at every man there, and then, to the complete shock and humiliation of the entire police force, Captain _John Watson of the fifth_ Northumberland fusiliers had chinned the Chief-Superintendent and given him a bloody nose. That was him in handcuffs as well.

All of that wasn't even the best part of the night yet! While everybody was hovering around the fuming Chief-Superintendent, Sherlock had managed to get a-hold of a gun and was backing away with a surprised John as his 'hostage.' Greg's police side had felt the need to go after them, whereas his conscience was telling him to let his friends go. Sherlock would have done the same to him. No, wait, who was he kidding? Sherlock would've gone after him like a cat chases a mouse if he had done anything wrong.

Having attempted, and promptly failed to arrest Sherlock, Greg went back to his office knowing that he was in trouble from the Superintendent, again. Bugger.

Well, thought Greg, tonight has been fun.

And it had been, in a weird, stressful way. Why didn't he get out more? When Sherlock and John came back he would find a way to clear both of their names and then head out to solve another case, just the three of them off to be heroes just like they had been for Henry at Dartmoor.

The Detective-Inspector sat down at his desk with a sigh of relief and lay back into his chair. Now what was he supposed to do? The Chief-Superintendent had organized the team that would find Sherlock and John and he had purposely left Greg off of it knowing that he was a friend of theirs.

Slowly, without realizing it, Greg began to drop off to sleep in his office chair that wasn't even all that comfortable. His eyes closed, and he was out.


	2. Chapter 2

The next thing Lestrade knew, a visibly irritated Anderson was shaking him awake.

"What do you want?" He asked groggily as he sat up.

"It has been three hours sir, and we can't find Johnlock." Anderson replied in his irritating, nasal voice.

"Johnlock, what the hell is that Anderson?"

"It's the new name for John and Sherlock; they've even been handcuffed together now, so it's official. Sally and I came up with it."

Greg groaned. What a great way to start an early day, with Anderson being a pompous prick. "If you are going to call them that, don't do it around me or any of your superiors. It is highly unprofessional." He snapped, not happy with his morning thus far.

Anderson sniffed indignantly before stalking out of the office to talk to Donovan. The DI grimaced and stood up to stretch. Checking the clock, he groaned when he noticed it was 5 am. "For the love of all that is holy…" He muttered under his breath, before walking out of his office over to where a couple of officers stood chatting. "Any news on what has going on with Holmes and Watson?" He asked them.

"Nothing yet sir, Johnlock is still on the run, they have probably found somewhere safe to hide." The taller of the two officers answered.

Upon hearing the word 'Johnlock' again Greg sighed, exasperated already. "And it's only 5 am…" He thought to himself with a mental shake of his head. Thanking the men he walked away and stood looking over the police station. He tended to do that when on a particularly stressful case.

Recognizing her boss's signs, Sally walked over and spoke to him. "How are you doing, Lestrade? I know that you liked the Freak and his friend, but they are on the run now. There is no way that you can stay friends with them now."

"Thank you Sally, for your honest belief, but I don't need to hear your pessimism at the moment." Greg replied, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. He just had to get through the day, than he could go home and sleep. That was it, one day, than sleep.

How much worse could the day get?


	3. Chapter 3

Apparently, the day was going to get much, much worse, but how was Greg to know that? It was now 12:30 pm and time for his lunch break. Maybe he would head down the coffee shop that was a minute long walk from the station. That seemed like a good idea, it was a quiet place and usually occupied by the less obnoxious officers of London.

Greg grabbed his coat before locking his office up and leaving the police station. As he walked towards the coffee shop, he thought about what he wanted to have for lunch. "An extra strong coffee with sugar and cream…" He thought, and added to himself, "And a large sandwich with cheese and ham." Or maybe he would treat himself, "A Panini it is then." He flashed a smile at a fellow officer as he entered the coffee shop and sat down.

The waitress came over and asked him what he wanted, he ordered, and then picked up the paper from his table to read. All over the front page was something that Lestrade had not been expecting.

**Self-Proclaimed 'Consulting Detective' a Fraud**

The title of the article alone was enough to make him sick to his stomach; the man previously known as 'The Reichenbach Hero' who had the press singing his praise had been reduced to media fodder.

_The well known 'consulting detective' Sherlock Holmes has been revealed to have been fraudulent. His supposed genius level IQ and quick deduction skills are un-true, _

"Blah, blah, blah!" Lestrade said, louder than he had intended, in response to the fake, ridiculous claim that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud. Greg couldn't believe it as he skimmed the story; there was everything there from his childhood to his supposed creation of cases for fun. The article was hard to ignore, but Greg knew the consulting detective. He had seen him at work; he couldn't have faked everything. There was no possible way.

The day was getting worse still and as his coffee arrived at his table he groaned, for coming through the doors of the café were two of the people he least wanted to speak to. Donovan and Anderson had decided, for the first time ever, to eat at the café.

Swearing under his breath, Lestrade pretended not to have noticed his colleagues entering the store. He faked surprise when they sat down either side of him at the table. "How long have you been here, Lestrade?" Sally asked sweetly.

Greg checked his watch, 1:05 pm. "About half an hour," he replied shortly.

Donovan and Anderson… _Donderson maybe?_ Greg thought spitefully before feeling ashamed to have even played with the idea of it and looking back at the two of them. They were ordering their meals.

When they were done Greg asked them, "Any news yet on Sherlock and John?"

"None, people aren't trying that hard to find them actually. I'm surprised; I'd have thought that they would search for fugitives a bit harder than they are." Sally replied.

"Oh?" Lestrade was secretly pleased; he didn't really want two of his friends to be shut up in jail for ridiculous reasons. He thought back to when he, Donovan and Anderson had gone to the Chief-Superintendent.

Why had he gone at all? He had known in his heart that Sherlock was innocent and that going to his boss was a very bad idea, and yet he had headed over anyways.

Shaking his head, Greg finished off his coffee and Panini. Maybe it was time to head back to the station. Donovan and Anderson hadn't even received their lunch yet, and there was no way that Lestrade was going to sit in-between the two of them for another half hour. No way.

"I should get back to work, I might be needed," he excused himself before heading back to his office.

Greg arrived at his office and sat in his chair before turning to the television where the news was broadcasting.

"There has been an apparent suicide at Bart's Hospital. A man has jumped off of the roof of the building and was confirmed dead just moments ago. No news yet as to the identity of the man but we will bring you more information as soon as we have it."

The reporter continued on, saying more about news in London. Then, Lestrade's phone rang. He picked it up only to hear a sobbing Molly on the other end.

He listened closely to what she had to say before collapsing back into his chair, his hand going loose as he listened.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock Holmes dead?

It seemed inconceivable, impossible, and absolutely ludicrous. He had become one of Greg's friends lately, more than just an acquaintance. Ever since Baskerville he had come to enjoy Sherlock's company more and more, and now he was dead. Killed by throwing his own body off of the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

It was unthinkable.

Greg could feel his gut clench and his eyes tear up as he noticed that his phone was on the floor. He picked it up and could hear himself say to Molly that he had to go in a voice that just didn't seem to be his own. Who knew he would be so affected by the death of a man most called a sociopath or psychopath?

Then it hit him.

He was upset for more than just the fact that they had been friends; he was upset because the last thing he had ever done to Sherlock was arrest him. What type of friend arrests the other because some people think they committed a crime? Obviously not a very good one.

He was disgusted with himself.

Maybe he was just being selfish, or perhaps he was delusional; but Greg couldn't get the thought out of his head that somehow it had been his fault that Sherlock Holmes had felt the need to jump from Bart's Hospital roof.

Once, Greg has said that Sherlock was a great man who, if they were lucky, would end up becoming a good man.

He hadn't known what he had meant then, and he didn't know now but it seemed appropriate to think of at the moment.

Greg sat there with the shock still written all over his face as if by a crayon, it was so visible. Sally Donovan looked over just in time to see him snap his phone shut and gingerly place it on the table where he stared at it listlessly. Immediately, knowing that something awful had happened, she ran over to where her boss sat.

"Lestrade? What has happened? Are you alright?" She asked with concern evident in her dark eyes.

"It's Sherlock… He's dead." Lestrade managed to say before pointing to the television screen where a picture of the man was being shown along with a brief summary of what had happened - the media was really quite efficient when it came to airing upsetting news.

Sally had never liked Sherlock, but she hadn't hated him as much as she might have done. Well, that was a lie, she had hated him at the beginning but after a while she had come to the conclusion that mad men can't help themselves and she'd come to enjoy his rants. Even if she believed that he was a psychopath who got off on dead people and seeming brilliant.

Greg wasn't the only one shocked at the news. Sherlock had been well-known, if not particularly well liked, at the police station and the chatter quickly swelled into a loud babble as people began to talk about what had happened to the famous consulting-detective become fraud.

Even in the homicide department some deaths are complete and utter shocks to even the most hardened of officers.


	5. Chapter 5

Lestrade attended Sherlock's funeral dressed in his best black suit. He didn't bring any flowers; Sherlock hadn't been a man to appreciate flowers unless they were a clue in a difficult case. Oddly enough, considering the fact that Sherlock hadn't been the most loved of men, many people showed up for his funeral. A few of the people Greg knew, like John, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and a couple of others, but most of the guests seemed to be people who had been involved with the consulting detective through some case or another (Henry from the Baskerville case was there, among others Lestrade did not recognize). There was one man there who was tall and vaguely angular like Holmes had been, he had the same impenetrable face the Sherlock had sported whenever he was bored or tired. Greg assumed that he was Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's elder and apparently colder, smarter brother.

When Greg saw John's face he nearly lost it. The poor doctor looked exhausted and in pain, his face had the look of a broken man and he held a cane in his hand. John's face had a few more lines in it then he remembered and the guilt that Greg felt was overwhelming.

Lestrade had already spoken to John after Sherlock's death and he had confessed that he felt that he was to blame for the sudden death. John had looked up at Greg and answered that nobody could know Sherlock's reasons, but that he believed there was an ulterior trigger for Sherlock's suicide than the claims of fraud and attempts at arrest.

"I cannot, and will not believe that my best friend was a lie." John had said with the passion and conviction of a man set on an idea.

The Detective Inspector had quietly agreed with the Doctor on the point that Sherlock was not a fraud, but he couldn't very well say that he felt that he had attempted to arrest an innocent man, twice.

Then the Doctor gave his eulogy and Mrs. Hudson was crying, Mycroft impassive, many people looking upset but not overly sad, John retaining the discipline of the army with a stiff body, impenetrable face, and no tears (yet). Lestrade himself was getting a little teary eyed after everything that John had said, from Sherlock's good points, to his many flaws, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to forget that he was at the funeral of an unlikely friend. And Sherlock had been an unlikely friend, Greg and Sherlock had nothing in common save their interest in solving crimes.

It was time to get back to the real world of solving crimes without a genius to assist him.


	6. Chapter 6

Three years was a long time to stay in the same job position when you had already held that job position for at least five years before that, but Lestrade was in the exact same place that he had been years before, as were Donovan and Anderson. Many other officers had rotated to a different division, been promoted, or retired; but the station was looking pretty much the same as ever.

Greg still had the same office, with the same chair and everything. Nothing much had changed in his life, except that instead of solving crimes through a consulting detective he had himself, and occasionally (very rarely) a medical doctor who'd learned a few tricks from his best friend and flat mate.

It was strange at first, going to a crime scene and not hearing 'Freak's here' over the radio or seeing the familiar tall, dark form striding in and taking control of everything while seeing, hearing, and smelling everything (even the deodorant of those unfortunate enough to be near him after a night with a 'friend').

However, life went on and Lestrade soon began to forget how it felt to know all by the end of the case, 'case closed' didn't necessarily mean 'we know everything' anymore and cold cases were all too common.

The case of the week was stumping the entire homicide division and it was times like these when the help of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective extraordinaire, would be very much appreciated. If only… But there was no point in wishing, wishes never came true these days. At least none of Lestrade's, but that was beside the point.

The case was difficult, the murderer would kill the victims at a late hour, between 11 pm and 1 am every night, and the bodies had no marks on them and there weren't any traceable poisons to be found. The end result always ended up being inconclusive and there weren't even any witnesses to the four killings that had already happened.

Another murder had been committed deep in the London core. This crime was the same as the other four and Lestrade felt the sinking feeling that he always felt when a case was unresolved. He hoped that it wouldn't end up becoming another cold case.

Greg's doubts worsened as he drove to the scene of the crime and when he arrived he could see that there weren't many officers there at all; people were giving up on the case.

As he stepped out of his vehicle, someone knocked him over as he ran by. Lestrade shouted out as he fell and when he got up off of the street the man was gone, all the DI knew was that the man had smelled of dust and city smog, with a hint of toxic chemical. That was all he had to go on and the way his day was going Greg didn't even bother to try to find the man to reprimand him, even if his knees and hands were smeared with dirt from the ordeal.

The next thing to go wrong was the worst yet, for when Lestrade reached into his coat pocket to grab his badge there was a slip of folded paper, but no badge. When he unfolded the paper, there were just three words, "See you soon –Altamont" the name seemed familiar but for the life of him Greg couldn't remember where it was from.

Then, like a smack in his face, Lestrade realized that whoever had taken his badge, planned to do something with it. This was one hell of a problem. He'd had his badge stolen on more than one occasion before and nothing had ever come of it; if he was lucky, this time would hold no consequence as well.


	7. Chapter 7

Lestrade Fan Fic Reichenbach-Post Reichenbach Katie Morrish

Greg had reported the theft of his badge and he was now stuck wondering what was going to happen, who Altamont was, and what he had meant by "see you soon." Of all of the Altamont's in London only a few were capable of the theft and Greg got no further from there. He hadn't much hope anyways, seeing as Altamont was almost certainly an alias.

However, things began to go even more south after an incident at a crime scene in an apartment the day after Greg's badge was stolen. A man had gone to a crime scene and entered as Detective Inspector Lestrade, and then he had left another note that had said, "See you soon – Mr. Basil." A witness said that the man had been tall, with curly brown hair and a beard and moustache. The description was vague and the new alias brought up nothing in his mind again.

The next day, the same thing happened at a different crime scene and a note that said "See you soon - Sigerson." Again, the name seemed familiar, as if he had heard the name before but had never retained the memory.

After a few more stories of the same nature with different aliases, Lestrade had enough. However, there wasn't much that he could do but wait and hope that he would see the man responsible soon as he had said. Greg wasn't happy; the man was playing with him like he was a doll. Obviously, the theft had been preplanned, as had the idea of what to do with the badge once it was in the hands of the criminal.

Greg felt like a toy.

The next time that his badge was used and a note left it was at his own crime scene and he found the note himself, it said, "Meet me at your house." Lestrade was worried, who knew what the nameless criminal wanted? Not wanting to make a big deal of anything he went home on his own that night, his wife wasn't there (hadn't been for a couple days as she was out with friends) and he kept his gun up as he entered his house.

What he saw next gave him the biggest shock that he had had in a very, very long time.

Sitting on his couch was someone that he had thought he would never see again. "Sherlock?" He rasped. "You're not… dead."

"How perfectly obvious you are," the dead man answered with a twitch of his thin lips. "I was never dead." He added the last part in a monotone voice that held a hint of amusement.

Greg had to sit down opposite Sherlock, as his legs were shaky; how could they not be? He had just met a man that he thought was buried six feet under at the cemetery. "Does John know that you're alive?" He asked, knowing the military man had been depressed since the day of Sherlock's death, or rather, faked death apparently.

"Yes, he has known for a week. He had a much more amusing reaction then you did." Sherlock full on smiled this time around and Lestrade managed a bit of a smile in return.

Then, he realized something, "If you are here… That means that you are the one who stole my badge." He stood up, angered.

"I was, yes. However, before you shoot me I would like to explain why." Sherlock then began to explain as Lestrade sat down, suspicious. "You arrested me, and then you arrested John. If you, Donovan and Anderson had not gone to the Chief-Superintendent, I would not have had to become a fugitive, and I might have been able to avoid the need to disappear. Of course, I don't blame you, much."

Sherlock then proceeded to explain everything, from why he needed to die, to how he didn't and what he did on those three years when he was 'dead.'

It took hours for the two of them to catch up with each other, and eventually, Greg threw down his pride and asked, "Can you come back? I have a few cases that need a consulting detective."

"Of course, what else am I going to do on my free time?"

"You don't have a job, you are always free, and you wouldn't survive without something to do."

…

"Precisely."

**THE END**


End file.
